


A Carol In Prose

by Kate_Christie



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: 25 Days of Voyager, Angst, F/M, Q Being Q (Star Trek), References to A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens, Romance, Time Travel, j/c - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:09:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28054425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kate_Christie/pseuds/Kate_Christie
Summary: When Q appears in Admiral Kathryn Janeway's office late one December night, how could time travel, period costumes, and deep self-reflection not ensue?
Relationships: Chakotay & Kathryn Janeway, Chakotay/Kathryn Janeway
Comments: 31
Kudos: 54
Collections: 25 Days of Voyager (2020 Version)





	1. Solitary as an Oyster

**Author's Note:**

> Day 13 of the 25 Days of Voyager, 2020, complete.

“Kathy, what are you doing holed up in an office, all by yourself, planet-side?”

Kathryn Janeway’s head snapped up so fast she nearly sprained a neck muscle at the familiar taunting tone.

“Nice to see you, too, Q. What did you do to irritate the continuum now?”

Q planted one hip on the corner of her desk, his admiral’s uniform mirroring her own.

“What? Nothing. Junior has been as gentle and compliant as a lamb.”

“I didn’t ask about Junior, as you are clearly the only Q who popped into my office to harass me. So are you bored, or on the outs with the others?”

“Neither. Both. Well, let’s just say it wouldn’t hurt for me to find somewhere to be other than the continuum for the next little while…”

“Mmm hmm.” She sat back in her chair, resigned to engaging with him at least for a few minutes. A glance out her window showed a pitch-black sky above the twinkling lights of Headquarters. It was probably time for her to call it a night, anyway.

“But you’re deflecting, my dear Admiral. Why did you let StarFleet promote you into a bureaucrat? You were meant to be exploring the stars, commanding a starship, leading your intrepid crew into the unknown!”

“So _you_ can pop in and play with my crew any time you feel the urge?” Just mentioning her crew sent a pang of regret through her chest. 

She really should attend the party this weekend. She missed them all, but having skipped the last several crew events in the name of work, guilt had kept her from confirming her attendance. 

“I think your crew misses you. I dropped in on their little party last week, and they were no fun at all. I couldn’t even goad Mr. Paris into entering an interstellar drag race in the Gamma Quadrant. Something about needing to put the baby to bed.”   
  


Miral’s birthday party had been just a week ago, scheduled early so it wouldn’t conflict with the party to celebrate the anniversary of their return. She had lobbied hard against the formal gala proposed by StarFleet’s public relations team, remembering all too well her crew’s reaction to being paraded before the press and StarFleet brass a year earlier. This weekend’s party would be just the crew and their invited guests thanks to her efforts, but somehow she couldn’t bring herself to face them.

“Why don’t you go bother Picard?” Thoughts turning morose, she was suddenly not in the mood to entertain her omnipotent visitor.

“Oh I tried. He was reading—an actual _book_ made out of _paper_ of all things! Dickens’ _A Christmas Carol_. Said he always reads it this time of year.” His gaze wandered out her window and rested on the lights of the Golden Gate in the distance, seeming in no hurry to leave. One thing she and Picard had in common, other than their status as targets of the alien currently occupying her office, was an appreciation for Victorian British literature.

“I like that one, too, though I’ve never read it from a paper book.”

Christmas was only a few days away, and her mother and sister had been pestering her to transport to the farm early for the festivities. Thus far her excuse of too much work had satisfied them, but eventually she would have to give in. This had once been her favorite time of year, but despite being home, and her crew—both Maquis and StarFleet—being out of danger and with criminal records purged—her Christmas Spirit remained elusive.

“Ah, yes, you always did prefer those dress-up, holonovel versions of Earth literature.” Q’s eyes narrowed, head turning to zero in on her. “Now there’s an idea—“

Stomach dropping, Kathryn stood, bracing her palms on her desk and leaning toward him in what she hoped was an intimidating stance.

“Don’t even think about it, Q—“

But before she could get her next threat of violence past her lips, the pinging snap of his fingers sounded and her office winked out of existence.

*%*%*%*

  
“Hard and sharp as flint… ...secret, and self-contained, and solitary as an oyster.” --Charles Dickens, _A Christmas Carol_ , 1843.


	2. You Were Not What You Are

When the blinding flash of light faded it left her blinking and disoriented… and short of breath? Pressing her palms to her waist, she felt satin stretched taut over the hard ribs of a... corset. Vision returning, she made out the outline of an enormous, billowing skirt, skimming just above the gray, utilitarian carpet of Voyager’s mess hall.

“Nice touch, eh?”

“Why exactly am I wearing this gown, Q?”

“I thought you of all people would prize historical accuracy.”

“We’re on Voyager, not in mid-19th-century England.” Surveying her companion, she noted a dark waistcoat and cravat setting off a riotous plaid vest, and a tall, silk, black hat perched atop his head.

“Pish-posh. It’s Dickens.” As if that explained everything.

Admiral Janeway looked around her, taking in the dim lights of the empty room. It had been more than a year since she had last seen the mess hall, and being here brought a warmth to her chest she had almost forgotten.

When she tried to take a step toward the windows, she nearly tripped over the mass of petticoats filling out the yards of skirt that surrounded her on all sides. Q caught her under the elbow before she lost control in the face of the sheer inertia of her wardrobe. 

“Dickens,” he intoned as he set her to rights, brows lowered in a somber scowl.

“And historical accuracy, yes, I’m beginning to get the idea.” Grabbing a hefty fistful of silk, she hiked everything up and cautiously sashayed to the window, where she found stars streaking by.

“Where are we?”

“The more appropriate question would be, ‘When are we?’ And the answer is, your past, of course.”

A whoosh of doors drew her attention to a backlit silhouette she would recognize anywhere. Chakotay. Her heart stuttered at the sight of him in his uniform, dark hair unpeppered with gray. Stepping into the room, he scanned the empty seats, skipping right over her and her companion.

“Chuckles can’t see us, you know. No one can.” Q’s voice snapped her out of her momentary reverie, but her eyes stayed on her former first officer.

A smile ghosted across his lips when his gaze landed at the opposite end of the room. Following his line of sight, she spotted a figure hunched over the glow of a pad on the couch she had previously missed. In the starlight, she could just make out the glint of copper in the tendrils of hair escaping a high-set bun.

Chakotay covered the distance to the couch in silence, and she lifted the hem of her skirt and followed, hoping to catch some hint of exactly which one of the slew of times he’d found her like this they were witnessing. Just as he approached her younger self, he cleared his throat, and the Captain’s head tipped ever so slightly, a tell that she had heard him. 

“You’re working late.” He had rounded the end of the couch and stood between the Captain and the nearest replicator.

“Just signing off on your last batch of personnel reviews. I’m about finished for the night.” The Admiral could hear the fatigue she had perpetually tried to hide.

“It’s a good thing—the night is just about finished, too. It’s almost midnight. Can I get you another coffee?” He had always seen right through her chipper tone.

“As long as it’s not decaf, I’d love one.” Thumbing the final pad, she stacked it atop the small pile on the table and rolled her shoulders.

“Oh, I know better than to try that twice.” He was grinning out of her younger self’s line of sight as he stepped up to the faint glow of the machine to place his order. “Two coffees, recipe Chakotay Kappa Four.”

“Oh—I remember this night. Christmas Eve, after we’d come back from…”

Q had hung back, oddly unobtrusive and silent as they watched the scene playing out, but his footfalls approached when her voice trailed off.

“Yes, from your little adventure playing house on that planet.”

Chakotay toned down his smile as he handed her the steaming mug.

“Cinnamon?” 

The Admiral remembered that moment of recognition like it was yesterday—the tingle of spice warming her from the inside.

“You told me your mother always put it in your coffee—“

“On Christmas Eve. I didn’t even realize it was today.”

He tapped his mug to hers as he sat, then held the cup between his hands, inhaling before taking a sip.

Admiral Janeway half-turned to Q, but kept her eyes on the pair sitting opposite one another on the couch.

“My father often spent Christmas halfway across the quadrant. My parents were traditionalists—horribly old fashioned to me—and my mother insisted we celebrate no matter what—party with a bonfire, a tree covered in ornaments, singing carols on Christmas Eve. If my father’s mission was close by, she would make a pot of cinnamon coffee and wait up, just in case he made it home in time to be there on Christmas morning. When my sister and I got old enough, we would wait with her, and somehow, whether he made it home or not, we always had fun together.”

Chakotay set his mug on the table, turning his body to face his Captain fully.

“I think Neelix wants to have a little party tomorrow. Tom was telling him about Christmas traditions at dinner and Neelix got that sparkle in his eye, mentioned something about a similar holiday on Talax at this time of year.”

“It would be good for the crew to have something to celebrate, but I wonder if it might make it worse somehow, to celebrate so far from their families.” Her eyes focused on her drink, and the Admiral could almost see the two impulses warring in her head.

“Does it make you sad to think about people at home celebrating without you?”

“Not really. In a StarFleet household, holidays are always subject to emergencies and away missions. I’m sure by now they aren’t waiting up for me.”

Admiral Janeway heard the regret in her younger self’s voice. It hadn’t just been her mother and sister she had been thinking of. Mark had naturally folded into all her family traditions over the years, and when she returned last year just in time for Christmas, her sister had told her how the first few years Mark had come to the farm for Christmas Eve, had hoped along with the Janeways.

“Maybe starting a new tradition would be a way to honor the ones they’ve left behind.” Chakotay’s voice soothed her ears even now, but those words weren’t meant for this version of her, the one who had made so many questionable choices in the intervening years, who had kept her distance to get them home.

“I have something for you.” Chakotay’s lips pressed together, a split-second tell for nerves that only she would notice.

“The next batch of personnel reviews?”

“No, it’s something I made a while ago, but I never had the chance to give it to you.” Chakotay held out a tiny fabric pouch, and she took it, eyes wide and a little wary.

The Admiral’s stomach sank as this memory played out before her. She had re-lived it so many times inside her head over the years, seeing it shouldn’t have affected her so.

“A present.” Tugging at the string, the tiny knot came loose and a delicate silver chain slid from the bag into her waiting palm. Dangling from it was a small wooden star, the points so delicate it looked as if it must have been replicated. “You made this by hand?”

“It’s a little rough, I know.”

“No, it’s absolutely beautiful.” 

“I wanted to ask him to put around my neck right then,” the Admiral breathed half to herself and half to Q.

“I made it for you before we left New Earth.”

Her heart ached for both of them at what was coming next.

“Chakotay, I don’t think I… as beautiful as this is, I can’t accept it.”

“Why not?” His face hadn’t fallen so much as stiffened, solidified in his resolve.

“You made this for someone else, for the woman you thought you were going to spend the rest of your life with, not for your Captain.”

“It hurt you very badly to say that, didn’t it?” Q remained uncharacteristically still as he watched alongside her. She gave him no answer, but blinked hard to keep the moisture from her eyes.

“I made it for Kathryn, my best friend, who I may very well spend the rest of my life with on this ship. I made it for you, and I couldn’t care less what label is currently attached to your name. You can do whatever you’d like with it, but I won’t take it back.”

Kathryn slipped the necklace back into its pouch and tied the string, then laid it on top of her stack of pads. 

“Well, it’s late. I should be getting some sleep.” She reached for the pile, but his fingers clasped one of her hands before she could grab it and make her exit.

Her eyes slammed shut at the warmth of his touch, the gentleness of his grip that would have released her at any signal of discomfort. Instead, she gripped those fingers back, hard.

“I miss you.” His voice was barely above a whisper, almost as though he meant for her to be able to deny having heard the words at all.

“Thank you. For… everything.” Their hands unclasped and in the blink of an eye, she was gone.

Chakotay’s eyes stayed fixed on the spot where she had been sitting, and she found herself leaning forward, on the verge of going to him, to do or say what she had no idea.

“He was pressuring you for what you thought you couldn’t give.” Q leaned into her shoulder just enough to break the spell.

“No. He was offering me whatever I needed, whatever I would let myself have. It took every bit of resolve in me not to bury my head against his chest and let him hold me.”

“Well why didn’t you?” For all his usual brashness, Q’s voice was gentle, almost a whisper. His whole demeanor tonight unnerved her, or perhaps it was her response to it that was disturbing. She found herself once again admitting things to him that she had never told another soul.

“For all the reasons he and I discussed the night we left the planet. I was in command of the ship, a StarFleet ship with StarFleet regulations that said I could not be romantically involved with anyone directly under my command.”

“No StarFleet regulator ever dreamed of a captain leading a mission for her entire lifetime, halfway across the galaxy. Surely they would have bent the rules.”

“Maybe, but how could I expect the crew to respect the rules if their Captain started ignoring them?”

“Well, I still can’t understand why you turned down my offer…”

Kathryn rolled her eyes at his return to bravado and his feigned bruised ego.

“Well, then why didn’t you take me back to relive that moment in my past?”

“Actually, Kathy, I didn’t take you anywhere. It’s your twisted ball of neurons you humans call a brain that chose this destination. I’m just your transportation. And it seems it’s time to go.”

  
  


*%*%*%*

“Your own feeling tells you that you were not what you are...” --Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol, 1843.


	3. Far Away From Any Shore

In barely the blink of an eye, Voyager was gone, and Kathryn found herself face to face with… Chell. He was merrily doling out enormous glasses of bright green and suspiciously sparkling liquid to a waiting queue of her former crew members. Everyone was gathered around a buffet table covered with more desserts than she had ever seen.

“Naomi—look how much you’ve grown.” It only took a moment of silence from the young woman, surely inches taller than at their last meeting, for Kathryn to recall that no one here could see or hear her. A wave of disappointment swelled in her chest.

“When is this, Q?” Finding her flamboyant friend proved a challenge in the crowd of former Voyager crew members and their families, but the banquet room—dripping with twinkling lights and festive garlands—overlooked San Francisco, so clearly this must be the future.

“Christmas present, as Mr. Dickens would say.” Q emerged from behind a group surrounding B’Elanna, Tom, and Miral. He had added a walking stick to his ensemble, and used it to gesture toward the large cake decorated with a silhouette of Voyager. “This is the party you helped plan.”

Before she could internalize her absence, the boom of the EMH’s voice rang out from across the room.

“Commander! Or should I say Professor? Welcome!” 

Kathryn found the object of the hologram’s greeting, just inside the door, smiling at the beautiful brunette on his arm. Despite having seen the two of them looking just as friendly on the Academy grounds three months earlier, a tiny flame of hope had still flickered in her chest that maybe this woman had been a colleague or an acquaintance or even a fling. Clearly her original instinct had been correct. He hadn’t wasted much time after he and Seven of Nine had parted ways.

She should have known her own choices—including the scene she had witnessed only minutes earlier with Q—had set these events in motion. But no matter how much sense it made that he wouldn’t wait forever, that careers in StarFleet rarely led to happy endings, that didn’t stop the sharp stab of regret. It bled into a deep ache of loneliness as she imagined a future without him. Stinging behind her eyes brought a panicked but familiar instinct to flee.

“I think I’ve seen enough of this particular scene, Q.” Kathryn had no idea how Q’s version of this little game worked, but maybe if she truly was directing their travels, she could provide her own escape.

“Oh, must we leave so soon? I overheard your Doctor talking about leading the whole group in a rousing chorus of Christmas carols later…” his faux disappointment came with a full lip pout. Even so, he raised his hand and snapped his fingers.

  
  


#%#%#

  
  


Kathryn’s next arrival was cloaked in darkness. Her first impression was that her feet were freezing. After a moment, or perhaps a few, she couldn’t be sure, moonlight shone through the clouds, and she found herself and her companion standing ankle-deep in snow.

A look around revealed a familiar window, panes frosted but spilling warm light into the cold winter dark.

“My mother’s house.” Stepping up to the window, she peered inside, snow crunching under her leather boots. 

“No offense to your homeland, Kathy, but do you mind if we go inside? I didn’t realize how similar this “Indiana” was to Delta Vega.” Q made a show of rubbing his palms up and down his arms before cupping his hands over his mouth and blowing steaming breath into them.

“I didn’t think Q were subject to the elements.” Kathryn wiggled her toes to keep the blood flowing. Though she prided herself on her Midwestern constitution, Victorian fashions were much less weatherproof than her favorite winter boots.

With a tap of his cane on the icy ground, they appeared in the front hall, no trace of melting snow on their clothes. 

The old house that had once been her Grandfather’s came alive at Christmas. The scent of pine needles flooded her nose, wafting from the boughs woven together and draped along the honey-brown, wooden bannister leading upstairs. 

Laughter rang out from the direction of the kitchen, and Kathryn followed the sound of her sister’s giggle to the back of the house. Sweet cinnamon and nutmeg replaced the sharp tang of the greenery as her mother pulled a pan of molasses spice cookies out of the oven.

“They must be getting ready for the bonfire.” When they lost her father, building it had become her job. Kathryn heard Q’s boots clomping on the hardwood floor behind her. 

“I’m beginning to understand your fascination with ancient Earth literature. You appear to have grown up in a temporal anomaly where people still burn trees for warmth,” he gestured with the tip of his cane to the large fireplace burning in the living room behind them, “and  _ bake _ … things.”

“I told you my parents were traditionalists. They did their best to teach Phoebe and me all of this. Needless to say, the cooking didn’t stick with me, but my sister loves to bake. She probably brought these for the party.” Kathryn leaned in to inspect the intricately iced and decorated gingerbread cookies laid out on platters on the kitchen table.

“I thought she really might come tonight.” Phoebe popped another pan of sugar covered molasses balls into the oven as her mom slid the just-baked dozen onto a cooling rack.

“Your sister will come when she can.” 

“I’ve always been an optimist like you, but this year I’m not sure. Something’s changed since she got home. I’m worried about her.”

A gust of icy wind preceded her brother-in-law, Brian, through the back door, where he slid out of his coat and hat and stomped the last traces of snow from his boots.

“Wood’s all set, Gretchen, but you’d better go give it a look. I don’t want to be responsible for a Janeway holiday bonfire failure.”

“I’m sure you did just fine,” her mother smiled and took a sip from her favorite red coffee mug, but Kathryn had to stop herself from heading out to the yard to inspect the geometry of his stacking.

“You’re the expert, mom. Go double check.” Phoebe took over the cookie scoop. “We can manage the last batch.”

Gretchen traded places with Brian, shrugging on her outerwear as he stepped through to wash his hands.

“Brian—you’re… too late,” her mother was pointing toward the ceiling just above his head.

“Oh, I had almost forgotten.” Kathryn’s smile widened as she watched her sister’s husband freeze in his spot, while Phoebe sighed, rolling her eyes. 

“Again? You know, it’s not like it moved since the last time.” She abandoned the cookie dough, hands still covered in sugar, and crossed the room to him.

“Mistletoe. My mother would hang it in a different place every year. If you walked underneath, you had to freeze until someone came to your rescue.”

Phoebe stood on tiptoe, holding her sticky hands as far out of the way as she could, and planted a loud smooch on Brian’s lips, breaking the spell and freeing him to wash his hands in the old fashioned farmhouse sink.

“I think he knows exactly where that branch is,” Gretchen winked at her son-in-law with a gleam in her eye.

Kathryn looked over at Q, who had taken Brian’s place beneath the plant in question and was poking at it with the tip of his cane.

“I had no idea Earth had indigenous plants with these kinds of toxic properties.”

“It’s a custom, not a toxicity.” A surge of stubborn pride propelled the next words from her mouth. “I’ll have you know that I hold the Janeway record for mistletoe avoidance. I survived dozens of Christmases in this house without getting caught a single time.” 

She had threatened Mark within an inch of his life the first time he had attended a Christmas with her. The memory of him eyeing the sprig of greenery through the whole week of festivities made her smile even now.

Brian took over rolling cookies in sugar and placing them on the waiting sheet pan after his wife scooped the little balls of dough out from the big red bowl. Gretchen stepped into her boots and opened the door to the backyard.

“Bring Katie back with you if you find her,” Phoebe gave her mom a sad smile.

Gretchen’s eyes held the same flicker of hope Kathryn had seen every Christmas Eve when her father had been away. Trekking out onto the porch, she disappeared into the early evening dark.

“So why  _ aren’t _ you here, living out this fantasy of rural holiday Americana?” Q waved his hand in a sweeping gesture toward the whole room, ending with the blazing fire, stockings hung across the mantle including one with a looping, brocade “Kathryn” across the top. 

Though this evening hadn’t yet happened, she had a fairly good idea where she might be.

“Only one way to find out,” Kathryn gave the house one last, longing look and then met Q’s gaze across the room.

And with that, he snapped his fingers, and the room disappeared.

#%#%#

Inky darkness surrounded her again, but this time at least her feet were warm and dry.

Kathryn recognized her own silhouette sitting in her favorite chair before the wide, floor to ceiling window in her living room, a sheet of paper in her hands.

“That’s not Dickens.” Q chimed in from just off her left shoulder.

“No.”

It was a letter. Hand-written. From Anne Carey.

Kathryn shut her eyes at the familiar, hollow gnawing in her gut, unable to watch the inevitable unraveling.

“It’s a letter. From my assistant chief engineer’s widow.”

It had come at the end of the summer, just as she was settling into her position as admiral, just as she was beginning to feel as though Earth might be home again.

“Did she blame you for his death?”

Kathryn opened her eyes, turned to Q so she wouldn’t have to face the tears she knew would be falling by now.

“No. She thanked me. For almost getting him home. For giving him those seven years, and the logs and the letters and the messages. She wanted me to know how much she and her boys appreciated how hard I had tried to get Voyager and all her crew home.”

Janeway looked up from the letter, eyes scanning the lights of the San Francisco skyline out the window. Kathryn could see the shine of tears pooling in her eyes. 

“So instead of celebrating coming home to Earth with nearly all of your crew, or Christmas with your family, who just got you back from the Delta Quadrant, you choose to sit alone and feel guilty that you couldn’t get them all home to their own families.”

“Something like that.”

“Kathy, I believe we are done with the present.”

  
  


*%*%*%*

“Again the Ghost sped on, above the black and heaving sea—on, on—until, being far away … from any shore, they lighted on a ship. They stood beside the helmsman at the wheel, the look-out in the bow, the officers who had the watch; dark, ghostly figures in their several stations; but every one among them hummed a Christmas tune, or had a Christmas thought, or spoke below his breath to his companion of some bygone Christmas Day, with homeward hopes belonging to it.” --Charles Dickens,  _ A Christmas Carol _ , 1843.

  
  



	4. The Ends Will Change

Flickering pink light swam before her eyes as the room came into focus. The crack of a pool cue sounded just before a neat triangle of solids and stripes scattered across the green felted table near the door.

Kathryn stood among the shadows along the back wall of the bar, a near-perfect match to the holographic depiction she had come to consider the _real_ Chez Sandrine aboard Voyager. But this one had a faint odor of damp stone and candle smoke.

“How quaint, it’s Mr. Paris’ inspiration for his nights of rabble-rousing and debauchery, but with actual wine instead of that fabricated StarFleet nonsense.” Q reached for a bottle and palmed it as he eyed the label. 

“You humans and your incessant need for different languages just because some ancient tribe grew up on one side of a river or a mountain or an ocean and not the other. What did you do before you had universal translators?”

“Nous avons parlé français.” Kathryn had always enjoyed her foreign language courses, despite her issues with Klingon. She scanned the room searching for a familiar face, perhaps her own, among the patrons murmuring over their wine. 

“Chakotay—“ 

Kathryn’s attention zeroed in on B’Elanna, hand held aloft at a small table in the far corner of the room, tucked away beside a small Christmas tree, then followed her line of sight to the front door. 

Chakotay picked his way through the crowd, shedding his jacket, gloves, and hat along the way. His hair was graying and the lines that framed his eyes when he smiled now remained as permanent fixtures.

“It’s good to see you.” B’Elanna, too, had streaks of gray. “I’m sorry Tom couldn’t make it. He was still assembling Miral’s Christmas gift. It’s something called a _Moped_ that he swears is appropriate for a fifteen-year-old.”

“Good luck with keeping him off of it.”

A familiar twinkle appeared with his grin. “It seems everyone had other things to do this year.”

A server had made her way to the table and placed a glass of water in front of each of them as she took their order.

“Even after all these years, it’s still strange to come in here and not see the crew filling this room.”

“And not see Janeway running the table,” B’Elanna snarked with a half grin. But that smile faded as she glanced at her friend, who had a faraway look staring out the window into the inky Marseille night. “Do you know where she is?” 

Chakotay shifted in his chair, sipped at his water, set it down again. 

“Deep space. A diplomatic mission, I think.”

Their server interrupted whatever else he might have said with a pair of hefty glasses and a bottle of red wine, which she poured and then set on the table.

“When was the last time you saw her?” B’Elanna was not letting it rest.

Kathryn couldn’t help inching closer to their table for a better vantage point; Q followed close behind, never one to miss out on eavesdropping.

“It’s been awhile. Her sister said she would be gone at least another six months, maybe longer this time.” 

It was hard to imagine that she would be so out of touch with the Voyager crew that Chakotay would be forced to talk to Phoebe to find out where she was. 

“The crew never did get over it, when she just disappeared. I can’t remember the last time we had a real anniversary party.” B’Elanna tasted the wine, gave it an approving raise of one eyebrow.

“I still try to keep track of postings, but so many of them have left StarFleet or don’t answer my messages.” Chakotay took a drink and one dimple pierced his cheek. “She would have liked this one.”

“They’re speaking as if I’m dead,” Kathryn whispered, mostly to herself, but never one to give her the last word, Q piped up.

“Maybe to them, you are.”

“She was the heart of that ship. We wouldn’t have made it seven months in the Delta Quadrant without her, much less seven years. No offense—“ B’Elanna had the courtesy to look a little sheepish as she eyed her former captain-turned-first-officer.

“None taken. I know what you mean. She kept everyone focused, unified in a way sometimes even I didn’t fully understand.”

“I told you they missed you, Kathy.” Q leaned into her shoulder. “They aren’t the same without you.”

Q’s assignment of blame rankled. She wasn’t their Captain anymore. 

“But I’ve _been_ here, I’ve done all that was asked of me and more. I debriefed, I gave every interview, I spoke at every single memorial service.” Even the mention of all those eulogies, full of heartfelt, gut-wrenchingly impotent words, closed her throat for a moment. 

“StarFleet said I needed counseling, I completed it. They said I had to sit at a desk for a year, I have. I attended the get-togethers, hell, I helped plan half of them.” Raising her eyes to the ceiling, she sagged back against the wood paneling and let out as much breath as the damn corset would allow. 

“None of that mattered,” the watery break in her voice should have embarrassed her, but something inside her was breaking open and she couldn’t bring herself to care. “The ghosts and the mistakes and the regrets are always with me. I won’t be the dark cloud. I won’t bring all of them down because I can’t live with the choices I made.”

“You shouldn’t have to.” Q stepped in front of her, blocking her view of the room and this dark future. “You have people, real, non-omnipotent people, who would love to have the chance to help you. Two of them are sitting right there.” He pointed to her left.

Shutting her eyes, Kathryn turned her head away from Chakotay and B’Elanna. Their voices still carried.

“What I didn’t understand was why you and she never ended up together.” B’Elanna’s voice had Kathryn’s head snapping back, eyes narrowing on her former first officer’s face.

Clenching his jaw, Chakotay took a breath and then swallowed more wine, watching the garnet liquid swirl in his glass. Without meeting B’Elanna’s eyes, his answer spilled out on a sigh.

“You and me both.”

“What?” Kathryn straightened to her full height and planted a fist on her hip. “How could we be together? When we got home and finally had a chance, you were always with someone else.”

Q sidestepped as she pushed off the wall and stalked to the table, ready to confront Chakotay even if he couldn’t see or hear her. Q followed right on her heels.

“Are you sure about that? Did you talk to him? Ask him who the gorgeous brunette was on his arm? Or did you just assume the worst and run away?”

Chakotay had gone silent again, staring right through her, it seemed, out the window with an expression she couldn’t read. 

“He looked happy with her, whoever she was, and he deserves to be. I denied him that for seven years.”

“He doesn’t look particularly happy now. And I don’t see a wedding ring on his finger.”

Heat rose from her chest, blooming up her neck and flooding out the despair until her vision hazed red. Rounding on her fellow traveler, her anger found the only target who _could_ hear her.

“Q, this whole thing is none of your business anyway. Why do you even care?”

“Why do I care? You make me sound like some disinterested, unfeeling, oaf.” Q’s face softened. “Kathy, I consider you my friend.” 

Something in his tone… resonated, and her anger began to recede as quickly as it had come on.

“You have a funny way of showing it sometimes.”

“Besides, you’re no fun when you’re dark and brooding. It’s much more entertaining to visit when you’ve got a crew and a mission and your little boyfriend chasing after you like a lost puppy.”

“And there’s the Q I know…” Kathryn’s eyes rolled so hard she saw stars. 

“Alas, I’m afraid our little Dickensian voyage through time must come to an end.” Q gave his cane a toss and caught it before dipping his head in a restrained bow. “Junior’s play date with the Vulcans is due to finish any minute, and they do get testy when he overstays his welcome. Have fun sorting it all out, oh, and Merry Christmas.”

*%*%*%*

“But if the courses be departed from, the ends will change.”

\--Charles Dickens, _A Christmas Carol_ , 1843.


	5. Shadows of Things That Would Have Been

Kathryn Janeway awoke in her bed. Sun streamed through her open curtains and across her covers, neatly tucked over her as if she had slept peacefully all night. She wore her favorite pajamas, and her usual glass of water sat on her bedside table. 

Had it all been a dream?

“Computer, what is today’s Earth date and time?”

“Today is December twenty third and it is oh-seven-hundred hours.”

Friday. Q had appeared in her office Thursday night. Climbing out of bed, she slipped on her robe and sat down at her computer, searching through her messages for the invitation. With a decisive click, she confirmed her attendance, then did a quick scan through her contacts. If only she had an opening today...

It was noon by the time she had a moment to think about her plans again, between meetings she had reshuffled, she logged into her work console only one minute late.

“So good to see you again, Admiral, though I’ll admit your message this morning was a bit unexpected.”

“I really appreciate your fitting me in, Counselor.”

“Please, call me Deanna.”

*%*%*%*

Chee’lash punch, with leola root fizz.

It was green, it sparkled, and the chee’lash seeds underwent a chemical reaction when mixed with leola root extract that negated the latter’s unappetizing taste in exchange for the sparkle. 

Neelix would have been proud—possibly jealous—that all of Voyager’s former crew and their families were lined up to sample Chell’s creation.

Kathryn glanced for the hundredth time toward the banquet room door as she chatted with the Doctor and Seven of Nine near a large ice sculpture of Voyager. The former Borg had taken to critiquing the design specifications, drawing her attention to the dripping rear end of the craft.

“The artist has placed the warp nacelles at an obtuse angle, rather than the acute—“

“Commander! Or should I say Professor? Welcome!”

Kathryn turned back to the door in time to see Chakotay usher his strikingly beautiful companion inside with a hand on her back and a smile on his face. Creating a matching one for her own lips proved a challenge, but she called on all her diplomatic training and made it so.

“Doctor, Seven, Admiral, I would like you all to meet Sekaya, my sister.”

When a warm hand gripped Kathryn’s frigid one, and a pair of chestnut eyes met hers, something deep in Kathryn’s chest shifted. The feeling, whatever it was, rattled and bumped against her ribs, stealing her breath as if she were back in Q’s whalebone corset and satin gown. 

“Admiral, I’m so happy to finally meet you. My brother has told me so much about you.” Her voice had a familiar mellow tone and measured cadence. Everything inside her settled with the sound.

When she opened her mouth to reply, her answering smile required no diplomatic fabrication.

“It’s lovely to meet you, as well.”

*%*%*%*

Tom and B’Elanna had long ago departed with Miral asleep on her father’s shoulder, and Naomi was leaning heavily into her father’s side when Kathryn raised her eyes to the old-fashioned clock on the wall of the banquet room. She had made the rounds, sung alto on all the carols, even had a glass of the lip-puckering sparkly green punch. And she had been hugged more times in one evening than she had been in the entirety of the past year. Naomi had been the one to set that precedent, dropping her Captain’s Assistant decorum at her first sight of her former mentor to run into a crushing grip around Kathryn’s rib cage. 

Through all their years in the Delta Quadrant, Kathryn had never shied away from making physical contact—a pat on the back, a grip of the shoulder—but her gestures had conveyed reassurance, camaraderie, nearly always stopping short of true intimacy. That had not been the case tonight. 

Maybe it had been Kathryn’s unselfconscious burst of laughter when she returned Naomi’s mammoth squeeze that had set the tone, but from that point on, something had shifted in her former crew’s dynamic with her. There were a lot fewer mentions of rank when she was introduced to family members, a lot more embraces hello and goodbye. Spines straightened less when she approached. It was comfortable. It was familiar. It felt like home.

Scanning the ever-thinning crowd, she found Chakotay alone, near the wall of windows overlooking the bridge, and she wove her way through to stand beside him. 

“We’ve only been back a year, but I already find myself taking this for granted.” He didn’t look at her, but his tone was that of ready room chats or late dinners by candlelight in her quarters. His fingers splayed around a wide globe of stemware, holding a splash of honey-colored liquid. 

“I can see it from my office, but most of the time my attention is on a screen of one sort or another. It’s a shame.” Her gaze paralleled his out the window.

“How about on the next sunny day, we take a walk through the park and give San Francisco the attention it deserves?” His dimples made a sudden, unexpected appearance as he glanced in her direction, sending her heart tripping over itself inside her chest.

“I think that’s a wonderful idea.” Kathryn took a sip from her glass of champagne, which she swore had been poured from a bottle of synthehol, but somehow tasted as crisp and delightful as one from Sandrine’s cellar.

“Then it’s a date.” Chakotay widened his stance, planting one foot inches away from the sculpted toe of her high-heeled shoe. Shifting her weight, she leaned into the hip closest to him, and just like that they stood shoulder to shoulder. Even without an enemy to face or a battle to fight, his presence made her feel stronger, calmer, more at peace. 

“Your sister is lovely. I’m so glad I got to meet her.”

“She said the same about you. She left a few minutes ago—getting to be past her girls’ bedtime.”

“She mentioned one of your nieces was attending an art school this year.”

“The whole family moved this fall so she could enroll in a program for sculpture.” He turned his head to catch her eye. “You know, Sekaya has been trying to meet you for months. You’re not an easy person to find these days.”

Kathryn took a breath, unable to look him in the eye.

“I do know. And I’m sorry. I’ve let work get in the way.” Her eyes were fixed on the cables and towers stretching across the Golden Gate, but as the practiced excuse fell from her lips, she felt a chill run up her spine. This was her wall, and it was her choice to shore up its weak spots or use them as footholds to tear the whole thing down. 

Turning to face him, she did meet his eyes again. 

“That’s not entirely true, Chakotay. Work does take up most of my time. But, as I think you of all people would know, I use it as a crutch.” A sad smile pulled at his lips, and he blinked long and slow. “For most of the last year I did my best not to be found. I haven’t felt much like the person this crew used to know. And frankly, I wasn’t sure I could still be their Captain.”

Her stomach flipped with the admission, though not as violently as it had that afternoon when she had ground out those same words to Deanna Troi.

“I suppose it wouldn’t help to tell you that all the crew really wanted once you got them home was to be your friend?” His words held none of bitterness her disappearing act might have inspired. 

“I’ve spent some time thinking hard about that, among other things, in the last twenty four hours.” She resisted the urge to bring up her little holiday tour with Q. In the end, it didn’t really matter who or what had helped her arrive at the realization that she didn’t have to be alone anymore. “I didn’t really believe it until tonight, though.”

“We were each other’s family for seven years.” Dark eyes held her gaze, daring her to look away, challenging her to assume he meant their whole crew rather than the two of them. “That kind of devotion doesn’t just disappear because we aren’t on the same ship every day.”

The EMH tapped a glass with a spoon, drawing the attention of the handful of people still clustered in quiet conversation around the large room.

“Excuse me all, we are so glad you have enjoyed the evening, but the facility will be closing shortly, so please gather your belongings and make your way toward the exits. And remember to sign up for next month’s potluck on your way out.”

Members of the wait staff walked through collecting empty glasses and plates and Kathryn handed off her champagne as Chakotay drained the final sip from his drink.

“Well, it seems we’ve shut the party down,” she took full advantage of the Doctor’s announcement to change the subject.

“Wouldn’t be the first time we were the last ones to leave. I seem to recall we outlasted even Neelix on a few occasions.”

They crossed the room in silence, Kathryn trying desperately not to talk herself out of asking him the question she had been planning all evening. Collecting her jacket from the coat check, she turned to find Chakotay close behind, holding out a hand for the coat. There had been few occasions over the years for such a quaint, old-fashioned gesture, almost intimate in its formality. A little bubble of optimism rose inside her chest as she slid one arm and then the other into the sleeves and felt his broad palms smooth down her arms, straightening imaginary creases. 

Turning back to face him, she untucked her scarf, rearranging it where it had become trapped under the collar and lapels. When she looked up, she found his eyes fixed on a spot just below the junction of her collarbones. 

Realization dawned, and heat bloomed up her neck, flooding her cheeks and face all the way to the tips of her ears. Her fingertips traced the delicate chain until they encountered the intricate wooden star that had remained safely hidden under her scarf all evening.

Chakotay’s eyes were as wide and dark as she had ever seen them, still focused on the necklace.

“Kathryn?” It came out as a whisper, something forced from his throat with barely any breath behind it, maybe because all the air seemed to have left the room. His eyes flicked up to meet hers, all her own hope and fear reflected back at her in that instant. 

“I thought it was time to put it on,” her words echoed his uncertain tone as her grip faltered on the little charm. To keep them from shaking, she pressed her fingers flat against the carving he had made for her so long ago, warm and smooth against her skin, unchanged even by so much time.

Chell squeezed past them, reaching for his coat with a warm “Goodnight,” before returning to the small group of stragglers filing out the doors. That was enough to break the spell, but Chakotay offered his arm.

“Can I walk you home?” His voice was back to it’s usual register, and one dimple had appeared. Though her instinct pushed hard for her to decline, a little voice in the back of her mind that sounded suspiciously like Q reminded her that it was her choice to be alone.

“I’d like that.” Threading her arm through his felt practiced—familiar, but when he covered her hand with his own, the touch of his skin to hers sent sparks of awareness through nerve endings she had long ago forgotten.

Ten minutes of seemingly comfortable silence later, they were only blocks from her building. All those formerly silent nerves were singing, sending adrenaline and so many other hormones coursing through Kathryn’s veins. If she hadn’t still been holding tightly to his arm, she was sure she would have been trembling, but she couldn’t hold off any longer. Taking a breath, she did her best to steady her voice.

“Chakotay, I was wondering, and I know this is last-minute, so I understand if the answer is ‘no,’— she chanced a quick sideways look at his face and found that indulgent smile she had become accustomed to seeing over their years on the ship.

“Maybe you should ask the question before you answer it for me…” his hand gave her fingers a squeeze. 

No more hedging. The worst he could say was “no.”

“Are you and your family free tomorrow?” Her words sounded remarkably assured to her own ears for all her mental insecurity.

“On Christmas Eve?” His eyebrows raised but his smile remained. 

“See, I knew it was a silly question—“

“Unfortunately Sekaya and Seth and the girls will be spending tomorrow and Sunday with his family.” 

Her heart sank to the pit of her stomach. But Chakotay was still smiling.

“Not to be presumptuous, but I don’t have any plans tomorrow.” His dimples came out in full force, happiness bleeding across the distance between them until her own cheeks burned with an answering grin. 

Straightening her spine, she found a new spring in her step as she led them up her block.

“Well, you do now. How does a bonfire, carol singing, and as many cookies as you can eat sound?” Even she recognized the familiar ring to her voice. 

Confidence.

“The infamous Janeway Christmas party. I’m honored to be invited. What should I bring?”

“Warm clothes. Mom says they’re due for snow tomorrow.” They had arrived at her building, and she tapped her security code and thumbprint into the pad by the door, releasing the lock. He let go of her arm, and she immediately missed his warmth.

“What time should I be there?” That thousand-watt smile beamed almost bright enough to make up for the loss of his touch. When she swung open the door, a tinkle of bells sounded above their heads and they both looked up. 

What the— Q. 

She chanced a look past Chakotay, up and down her street, but there was no sign of her former tour guide.

“Looks like someone decorated for the holiday.” Chakotay tapped the leafy green cluster of white berries strung with tiny brass jingle bells dangling from the overhang above the door.

“It does, doesn’t it. Thing is, that wasn’t there when I left a few hours ago. Mistletoe.” She spat out the word as she tipped her eyes skyward, half expecting Q to be sitting on the awning over their heads. 

Chakotay mimicked her pose, leaning back and scanning the tops of the surrounding buildings. 

“What are we looking for, exactly?” 

Streetlights shone down, beams catching on the silver strands of hair peppered along his temples, carving his cheekbones from the shadows. He was beautiful, and he was here with her, under the mistletoe. In that moment, exacting revenge on a mischievous alien being didn’t seem so important.

“It’s a long story.” Grinning up at him, she blinked—no one would dare accuse her of batting—her eyelashes. “I don’t suppose you’d like to come up and hear it? I have coffee.”

“Does the coffee come with cinnamon?”

A blush flooded her face. How many more little details had he tucked away over eight years?

“You’ll have to wait for my mother’s coffee tomorrow night for that, but my coffee comes with a tale of Q, time travel, and me in a corset.”

“With that teaser, how could I possibly resist?”

“There’s just one catch.”

“Oh? Let me guess, I have to answer three unsolvable riddles from Q?” He narrowed his eyes. “No, wait, I know. He’s going to whisk us to Sherwood Forest and I have to rescue you from the Sheriff of Nottingham.”

“As much as I would enjoy seeing you in tights, this is much simpler.” Her heart was pounding so hard, surely he must be able to hear it thump behind her words. “You see, in the Janeway household, at Christmas time mistletoe has magical properties—anyone caught underneath it is stuck until someone comes to their rescue.” Butterflies erupted in a riot of fluttering in her stomach.

“And what, exactly, does this rescue involve?”

Her gaze dropped for a split second to his lips.

“A kiss.”

“I see.” He looked pointedly up at the offending plant, poised directly above her head. “And you’re sure I’m the one you want doing the rescuing?”

Her eyes went soft at the waver of uncertainty in his voice.

“Only if you want to be.” 

Without hesitation he reached for her, fingers threading into her hair just behind her ear and thumb brushing the arc of her cheekbone. Lips aiming for the same spot, he leaned in, and she felt his breath warm the apple of her cheek. 

But just before he made contact, she ducked her head, turning so his lips landed squarely on her own. She felt more than heard his little moan of surprise as their mouths made contact. The kiss was soft, and gentle, and warm, a greeting and a welcome without the slightest hint of a demand, and she could have lived happily within it forever. 

When he pulled back enough to look into her eyes, his had turned to saucers, black and deep, and his thumb traveled to brush along the path his lips had just traced. Kathryn found herself kissing the smooth curve of its pad with a smile she couldn’t contain.

“Still want to tell me that story?” His other hand found hers at her side, laced his fingers through hers and pressed their palms together, as he had so many years ago on another night, framing another story.

Her voice felt as though it had dropped an octave when she finally found it.

“It all started with Charles Dickens.”

  
  
  


*%*%*%*

“...I am here—the shadows of the things that would have been, may be dispelled. They will be. I know they will!”

\--Charles Dickens,  _ A Christmas Carol _ , 1843.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Apologies to Dickens, but if I had to slog through David Copperfield for educational purposes, I'm allowed some creative license with this one for recreation.  
> Thank you, Alex, as always, for your indulgence and your beta skills.  
> Only 2 months late finishing up... ;)


End file.
